


Reminders

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Canon, Beards and stubbles, Community: rounds_of_kink, F/M, Oral Sex, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The stubble has its perks,” she admits with a shameless little shrug. (Post-series, alternate canon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminders

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rounds of Kink New Year 2014’s mini-round. Kinks and prompt: Beards or stubbles / Aplomb

“Don’t.”

Sara stops him just as the razor blade touches the covered-in-soapy-foam skin of his jaw.

A single word; and her tone holds a quiet aplomb that doesn’t leave him with any other choice than to comply. She catches his eyes in the mirror of the bathroom and smiles. Bath towel around his hips and razor in hand, Michael doesn’t display the same assurance, not getting what this is about. It makes her smile a bit wider; that she can keep him on his toes, that she can throw him off.

He lowers the hand holding the razor and arches an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

“I like the stubble,” she explains.

She steps further inside the bathroom, until she’s standing right behind him, and lays a hand on the wet curve of his shoulder. Maybe he’s adding one plus one fast — he is smart, isn’t he? — or maybe it’s her impudent smile, but he gets what this is about now.

“You like the stubble, huh?” He’s too smug for his own good, but she can’t blame him given... “I thought you preferred the closely shaved look?”

“The stubble has its perks,” she admits with a shameless little shrug.

The stubble left its mark last night. She stood — leaned heavily, to be fair — against the wall of this same bathroom as he oh-so slowly kissed his way down from her mouth to her neck; and her breasts, and her stomach, and eventually between her thighs. She came from his mouth and fingers, from his eyes looking up at her and burning when she moaned and let go; from the damn stubble scrapping her just the right way.

Above the line of her hips, it’s a barely tingling sensation this morning, a barely there pinkish trace. A bit rougher than their usual fondling and caresses, but still gentle. Between her thighs, though? Different story. The skin is rosy and sensitive here, and the burn alone is enough to make her want it again, make her want more. It’s totally his fault, by the way: she did clamp hard on him and rubbed against him, but he made her do it. He did everything he could think of to bring her to clamp hard on him and rub against him.

She’s not averse to something to look at today that will remind her of that moment. He can resume his shaving routine tomorrow; or the day after tomorrow; or...

His face is serious, but his eyes sparkling as she presses herself against his back and brushes a soft kiss on the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry for hurting you last night.”

Phoniest apology ever uttered. It’s okay. She wasn’t fishing for one.

She is fishing for something else.

In a fluid move, she slips a bottle of aloe into his hand, tears the towel from around his hips and uses it to wipe the shaving foam off his face. He blinks once as he considers the options regarding the lotion nestled in the palm of his hand, and because he’s just _that_ sorry for hurting her last night, he eventually asks, “Do you want me to use this before or after...?”

“Surprise me.”

She’s back against that wall, her bathrobe hanging open because he doesn’t bother getting rid of it, and her hands shooting out to find something, anything to hold on to, before she can realize what’s happening.

The combination of the rough stubble and soft tongue and lips has her writhe into Michael’s hands, as good if not better than last night, her pants and soft pleas egging him on. She claws into his shoulders to halt him, to drag him back onto his feet and against her, into her. He’s velvet inside her, the smooth skin of his waist feeling fantastic on the burnt flesh of her inner thighs, his hands cautious and delicate around her. He is leaving more marks and faint bruises in her neck, licking and kissing as if his life depended on it. Creating more reminders — she smiles at the thought of feeling those all day too.

After. The aloe she slipped him: he uses it _after_. So thoroughly that she wonders if they’ll manage to get out of this bathroom before noon.

END

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